


Tolerable

by chronicAngel



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Bonding, Child Neglect, Children, Gen, Kidnapping, Light Angst, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14717880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicAngel/pseuds/chronicAngel
Summary: "You won't shoot me! I'm just a kid!"He scoffs. "Do you know how many kids have said that just before I've shot them?"





	Tolerable

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place during the War of Jokes and Riddles, but like all of the other fics in my Earth-107 series, it doesn't exactly follow New or Prime Earth continuities. In the actual Prime Earth continuity, the continuity in which this event is described, the War of Jokes and Riddles takes place during Bruce's second year as Batman. However, in my series, Bruce began his career as Batman in 1997 and has been Batman for 20 years, whereas Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown were _born_ in 1997, so it taking place in his second year as Batman, i.e. 1998, doesn't exactly work. Instead, this fic takes place in the summer of 2005. Bruce has been Batman for 8 years and Stephanie is seven going on eight.

"Did you get them?" He questions, examining his nails. The cuticles have been torn, likely from some fight with Bats or another, and he wrinkles his nose in displeasure. He'll have to go somewhere to get them taken care of once he gets rid of these idiots who somehow actually think he's not just going to kill them and dump them somewhere the minute he has what he needs from them. Visibly shaking, one of the three men in front of him shakes his head. He wrinkles his nose further. "And why not?"

"The Bat was there!" One of the others splutters nervously, holding out his hands in that signature gesture for surrender. The third, some third-rate villain calling himself Cluemaster, stays suspiciously quiet, back straight and expression almost defiant, like he's refusing to be afraid as an act of stubbornness or pride.

When he looks closer, he thinks he realizes why. "Harley!" He shouts, and the woman behind him instantly stands at attention at his side, eyes begging for orders. "Get my gun from the car," he says, looking over the group again. He still looks neutral, but the little girl he's failing to hide behind him's eyes widen in terror.

By the time Harley comes back, it looks like the man who shook his head earlier is about to piss himself. She hands him a pistol he's used about a thousand times, one of his favorites recently since it landed a shot on Batman's shoulder that put him out of commission for four days after his last breakout. Aiming it for the shaking man's forehead, he closes one eye. "Tell me why I shouldn't shoot all three of you failures right here," he says, voice cold.

Cluemaster, the one who's had yet to say anything so far, actually smirks while the other two stumble over each other to make excuses and explanations and apologies. It makes his blood boil. "Bang!" He shouts, and they both jump and lift their arms to cover their faces like that would effectively stop a bullet. He would normally cackle loud enough that it would echo back at him off the walls of the alleyway they're in. Cluemaster murmurs something that he can't hear and doesn't bother trying to. "If you fail me again, I really will shoot all three of you. Go. Do it again." The pair turn around and bolt. Cluemaster calmly walks away. The kid has gone somewhere. He doesn't really care.

He aims and shoots the pitiful man farthest to the right and watches with satisfaction as he crumples to the ground.

"Why'd you do that, boss?" One of the hulking men behind him asks when he turns around to walk back to the car. He's new, and plainly so, as even the other henchman looks at him with a wide-eyed, horrified expression.

The sound of the gun going off always gives him a sort of instant rush. "Don't question me," he says coldly, scowling, and then deliberately steps on the man's face as he starts his walk back to the car. Without commenting, Harley and the other henchman follow him, the former snatching the gun out of the air when he throws it over his shoulder and goes back to examining his nails.

He notices her the second he gets in the car.

Cowering on the floor in the backseat, hands over the back of her neck like she's huddling for a tornado drill in an elementary school, she looks even smaller when she's not hiding behind, presumably, her father. Maybe an uncle, though. She must hear the car doors open, because she gasps and looks up at the three of them, blowing any sort of cover she might have had. Like he's stepped in something disgusting, he makes a face and gestures at Harley for his gun, which she passes to him after only a second of hesitation. The little girl enters her tornado drill huddle again and says, "You won't shoot me! I'm just a kid!"

He scoffs. "Do you know how many kids have said that just before I've shot them?" He takes aim and ignores the soft whimpers she's making not because he feels bad, but because it's terribly annoying.

He doesn't pull the trigger before he hears sirens approaching, though, and he looks over his shoulder and then back at the kid. "We'll deal with her later," he says, partly to Harley and the henchman and partly to the girl, and then he climbs into the passenger seat and glares out the window at the flashing lights of police cars.

"Ya got a name, kid?" Harley asks, sitting in the backseat next to the girl, who seems to have realized the situation and crawled into a seat. He hears a seat belt click.

"Stephanie Brown," she says, louder than most kids would be when talking to people who just kidnapped her, he thinks. "I'm seven, but I'm gonna be eight this August. Daddy says he's gonna try to get the war over before my birthday, but I know it's not gonna happen. You're the Joker, right?" He glances at her in the mirror, narrowing his eyes, and then just nods. "Yeah, I already knew that. But Mommy says it's not nice to assume things so I had to ask. You wanna kill Batman, right?" She doesn't even give him time to answer before she continues, "Daddy says everyone wants to kill Batman, but I don't wanna kill Batman, so I think he's just... what's the word Mommy used... conceited?"

He doesn't point out that that is not, in fact, what conceited actually means, exactly. Instead, he just listens as this little girl rambles, because she seems to have a lot to say and he thinks she probably doesn't get to say it very often. "Mommy says he doesn't think of anybody but himself, but he gets me the sugary cereals that Mommy says I can't have so I think he's pretty cool sometimes. I don't like it when he brings me with him to meet bad people, though. Uh, no offense, Mr. Joker. He only gets... uh... visitation rights? He only gets visitation rights once a month, and he's always doing bad stuff, so he's always taking me with him and he says it's because he wants to spend time with me before I have to go home with Mommy for the month, but I think that he just thinks people won't shoot him because he can't pay if he's got me with him. Is that why you didn't shoot him, Mr. Joker?"

For the first time since Harley asked what her name was, she stops talking, giving him an expectant look. "I didn't shoot your father because he's not worth the 86 cents a lead bullet costs. Honestly, ammunition is so expensive these days..." Harley hums in agreement in the backseat, and Stephanie's little eyebrows knit together in confusion, as though something he has just said goes against her entire worldview. Turning in his seat to look at her while the henchman makes a sharp turn, he says, "Your father is an idiot if he thinks any real criminal will hesitate to shoot him because you're there. Really, he's lucky nobody has shot _you_ already."

Her face falls and she stares down at her lap, and if he were a better man, he'd probably try to comfort her. As it stands, he turns back to face the windshield and props his feet up on the dashboard. After two minutes of a finally-silent car ride, they arrive at one of his many hideouts around Gotham, and she follows him and Harley in without prompting. The henchman stays behind to dispose of the car.

She's only quiet for a short while after they get inside, sitting at his feet and allowing Harley to braid her hair even as she didn't ask. "Why do bullets cost so much, Mr. Joker?" She asks, probably just because she's a kid and can't stand quiet for too long.

"Because the United States government is filled with idiots who are afraid of economic collapse and people like me," he answers, staring at his fingernails again.

"Why are they scared of people like you?" She asks, sounding genuinely confused, and for the first time he can remember his expression shifts into something resembling concern. He's not sure he's ever heard of a seven-year-old in Gotham City who hasn't heard of him, and the daughter of Cluemaster should definitely not be an exclusion.

"Because he's smarter than them!" Harley says proudly before he has a chance to answer with the truth, and he decides not to dispute it. "Mistah J is the smartest man on Earth. He should be the one runnin' the government. Then bullets would be free!"

Stephanie makes a face, but it's unclear whether that's in response to Harley's statement or because the harlequin has just pulled slightly too hard on her hair. "That doesn't sound very practical." The word 'practical' out of a child with a voice that's still as high as hers is almost enough to make him laugh, but he finds even that's not funny to him now. "Mommy says that there are things we need and things we want, and that if things we wanted were free, they'd go away too fast. That's why I only get ice cream when I get good grades."

"That's very insightful for a seven-year-old," he says, raising an eyebrow. "What school do you go to?"

"Widow Creek Elementary. I wanted to go to Gotham Academy but Mommy said that's a want and not a need, like ice cream, so I had to go to Widow Creek Elementary with the other kids in our neighborhood. Someday I'm gonna show everybody that I'm super smart, though, and then I'll get a grant from Bruce Wayne like this girl who was in my class last year, Olive. I heard that she's gonna get a full ride all the way through school until we graduate as long as she doesn't get into trouble!"

He hums in acknowledgment. "Olive is probably a pretentious rat like all of the other students at Gotham Academy. You should avoid Bruce Wayne and graduate from Gotham Heights proudly. Fulfill some other want. Get a hamster."

"Mommy says I can't have a hamster," she says, crossing her little arms and pouting.

"My mother said I couldn't have a hamster, once. So I killed the bitch and got two," he says flatly. He's not sure it's true. He's not sure anything he says about his life is true, really. But it feels true right now and like the right thing to say, so he chooses to believe that might be how he ended up like this. "At some point you're going to have to start making your own decisions, Stephanie. And considering the fact that your father is a criminal who takes you on jobs with him and your mother hasn't noticed that yet, I'd say you're as qualified as either of them already."

She's quiet for a long time, apparently thinking. Then she says, "You can call me Steph. I'd like to think people would call me Steph if I talked to anybody." Strangely, she doesn't elaborate. Doesn't tell him the long tale of why she's decided not to make any friends at school, or tell him why she prefers Steph to Stephanie. It's strange. He's already grown accustomed to the seven-year-old's constant babbling and oversharing. She radiates the same need for approval that Harley does, so it was really rather easy to adapt to. He imagines that it will be similarly difficult to adapt to as when he actually manages to get rid of Harley for any real length of time, not that he'd admit to it at all for fear that she never let go of him again.

"You seem real relaxed for a kid who just got nabbed, Steph," Harley points out, tying off the braid that she's made of Stephanie's hair and sliding into his lap with a look of self-satisfaction. He doesn't shove her off. It's too much effort, so just watches while Stephanie seems to consider her response. He's not sure he's ever met a kid her age who _considered_ so much. He supposes he doesn't meet many kids her age though.

She simply shrugs. "You guys seem like want people, not need people. Daddy is a want person too, and he's not bad all the time even though he fights with Batman a lot, and with Mommy when she picks me up. Plus, I want ice cream and I think you guys probably have some."

Harley squeals, laughs, and vaults out of his lap, likely to go grab ice cream, and he can plainly tell she's already fallen in love with this child and the thought alone gives him a headache. He's in the middle of a turf war with the Riddler for the whole city of Gotham and he doesn't have the time or patience to indulge in Harley's... _Harley-ness_ right now.

* * *

"I like you guys," Stephanie says later, clearly crashing from her sugar high and resting her head in Harley's lap while the latter strokes her fingers through the former's hair, which has all but fallen out of the loose braid Harley did earlier. "I hope you win the war with the Riddler. Not just 'cause Daddy's on your side. You guys are fun, and the Riddler killed a little boy in my class named Charlie a couple weeks ago. He poisoned his kite string..."

Harley gasps dramatically. "That's so messed up!" Stephanie throws her hands in the air like she's saying _Right?!_ and then her eyes fall closed.

"I'd vote for you guys to be the government," she murmurs into Harley's thighs, and he thinks she doesn't quite know how the government works but doesn't question it. "As long as you guys didn't make bullets free. That's very impractical."

He glances at her as she falls asleep, the parts of her face that aren't obscured by loose blonde strands of hair visibly relaxed. They don't actually have anywhere to put a seven-year-old girl that they acquired on accident, and so Harley just holds her.

He sighs. He has to admit that the kid isn't as hard to put up with as he had thought she would be; the expectation is due to him finding all children intolerable, and the reality is likely due to the fact that she's slightly less childish than Harley is and he has to put up with her every day. And also, maybe, a little bit, because she is kind of cute and much smarter than any other child he's met her age. Whatever.

The peace only lasts about ten minutes. Really, he shouldn't expect any more these days, with the Bat constantly on his tail and the Riddler sending his goons to every one of his hideouts.

It's the Bat this time. He doesn't know whether or not to be grateful. He's mostly grown bored of Nygma's antics these days, and so is not particularly worried about being faced with his henchmen, but he thinks they are still significantly easier to deal with than Batman. Of course, most things are. He doesn't really have time to prepare, and for once, damn the child, he wasn't on alert, so he is left scrambling for his nearest pistol while the Dark Knight swoops down upon him. The rodent gets there first, and he finds himself winded on the ground as thick boots slam into his chest.

Harley, though, dives for the gun as well as she can with the little girl in her lap (Stephanie ends up waking up and looks around in obvious confusion) and gets a shot in on Batman's shoulder before he notices her moving. It gives him time to jump back up onto his feet, one hand clutching what will surely become an ugly bruise on his chest, and then dive behind a nearby crate (probably filled with bombs or... something, he doesn't have time to keep track). Harley seems to have more foresight than him for once, as she grabs Stephanie before diving behind the crate with him.

The Bat disappears as fast as he appeared, likely somewhere along the rafters of the warehouse. "Where's the kid, Joker?" He calls, voice seeming to boom even when they're not in his territory.

" _That's_ what you're here for?" He spits incredulously even as an irrational protectiveness surges through him. He grabs Stephanie from Harley and throws a hand over her mouth as she squeaks in what he imagines is terror, and then does his best army crawl toward another large crate while holding a gun in one hand and dragging a child with his other arm. She whimpers with hot little breaths against his shoulder and he wears a scowl as he imagines her snot and tears getting on his new suit. Batman's feet thud against the top of the crate as he lands on it the second the Joker gets to it, and they exchange a glare before, in a flash, he jumps to his feet, arm wrapped tightly around Stephanie's little body. She hangs from his arms like a rag doll.

"Don't you dare hurt her," Batman warns lowly, and he presses the barrel of his pistol against her head like a taunt.

"Where's your brat?" He says in reply, crinkling his nose as his eyes shift around the room. He's been caught by surprise by the sneaky little pest too many times not to be wary. _I'm gonna kill that kid some day_ , he thinks.

The Bat narrows his eyes, but he swears that he looks up toward the rafters behind those stupid lenses. He takes advantage of his distraction to get another shot in on his other shoulder, and then turns to sprint away with Stephanie in tow without checking to see if it actually hit.

When he turns back around, his enemy is still gathering his bearings, and he lifts the pistol to Stephanie's temple again. He notices tears in her eyes but pointedly ignores them in favor of glaring down the Bat. There's a window by a hill nearby, and he begins to slowly back toward it for additional leverage. "I don't want to hurt the brat any more than you do, Bats, but I will if you force me to."

He can see the man's shoulders tense and smiles to himself, moving closer still to the window. If he just gets a few feet closer, he can throw the kid and dive through it to make an escape. "Her father is some third rate thug working under me. Cluemaster, the fool calls himself. When you return her, tell him that he can keep her next time we do business together."

At that, Harley slams a chair over the Bat's head and the wood shatters cartoonishly, which creates a perfect diversion for him. He throws Stephanie with all of his strength and dives for the window. He makes it far enough he can almost hear the glass shattering ringing in his ears, but he feels something pulling taught around his legs at the last second and jerking him back into the warehouse's interior. He looks up to see a familiar leather whip wrapped around his legs and glares up at Catwoman while the little bird catches Stephanie before she hits the ground face-first.

He could almost laugh about it. He considers all of his past experiences, plans a getaway at the last second, and ends up getting caught by a _wild card_. He's supposed to _be_ the wild card. Somehow, the irony is lost on him.

"Why?!" He hears a shriek and looks over even as he knows where it comes from. She's shaking and her face is covered in tears and snot just like he had predicted, but she doesn't look afraid in the slightest. In fact, he thinks her expression is closer to... _betrayal_. "Y-you g-grabbed me! You th-threw me! W-why?!"

His blood runs cold for a second, and then he just scowls at her. "You didn't cost me anything, Steph."


End file.
